Someone Else's America
by Elessar King
Summary: Mike Logan looses it with a suspect when a case hits a little too close to home. One shot, nonslash.


So my first L&O fic, Confession Redux, wasn't very well received so it lives on in my journal where it has one loyal reader. It's a start at least I guess. Perhaps this is the wrong fandom to be AUing. Instead, here is something more canon that hopefully will actually get some reviews…or readers for that matter. I was writing Confession Redux which is now on its sixth chapter, and listening to my so-called "Logan mix" on yahoo radio and this song came on. Then…then came the bunnies. They didn't leave me alone on a night that I had to get up at a decent hour the next morning until I wrote this. Don't eat me for being a new fan and potentially getting something wrong here or anything. Anyway, I'll shut up now. Enjoy.

* * *

Someone Else's America

_What ever happened to the young man's heart  
__Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart  
__And I'm staring down the barrel of a .45,  
__Swimming through the ashes of another life  
__No real reason to accept the way things have changed  
__Staring down the barrel of a .45  
__- 45; Shinedown_

Mike Logan stared at the suspect across the table from him, his green eyes looking dark grey under the nearly inadequate light of the interrogation room. His ears were deaf to questions of his partner, Max Greevey, as he continually grilled the seedy man sitting under arrest in the precinct. It had been a particular nasty case and the suspect had proven very elusive. Once they finally got him, a confession was impossible to obtain. Greevey was growing frustrated. Logan's face darkened with hatred. This man sitting in front of him murdered children…viciously.

"But you're not denying that you know the kid," Max said, frustrated, standing up and pacing around the room to stand behind the man. He folded his arms across his chest.

"I said I had heard of him, ok? You're putting words in my mouth," the man protested, "I didn't touch no one."

Max raised an eyebrow, "We're putting words into your mouth? How about you make some words come out, understand? We have enough evidence to lock you away for a good long time."

"You ain't got squat, cop," the man sneered back before glaring back at Logan, "And what the hell is your problem, man?"

One of Logan's hands gripped the table, turning his knuckles white. Greevey looked over at him knowing that if the suspect's neck had replaced the table in his partner's hands, the man would be dead by now. But he also knew that he might be close to cracking the perp and getting a confession.

Greevey leaned down next to the man's ear and spoke softly, "You are his problem. Now I might just have to go get a cup of coffee and I'll leave you here with him, how would you like that?"

The man looked up at the detective, "You cops can't touch me man. I ain't done nothin'. What do you think I'm some sicko that makes friendly with kids and then kills him?" He nodded towards Logan, "He's more likely to do it than me."

In a split moment, something snapped; it was like a .45 pistol going off in an echo chamber. Mike sprang up and practically leapt over the table before Greevey could stop him and took the suspect to the ground in a rage, pounding on his face. Max grabbed Logan and tried to pull him off but found that the younger man was much stronger than he appeared. The door immediately burst open and Cragen ran in, followed shortly after by detective Profaci and his partner. Between the four of them, they managed to restrain the irate detective.

Logan watched almost detached from himself as Cragen and Profaci's partner held him against the wall. Vaguely he was aware of a dull pain in his right hand, but the pain gave him focus. Greevey was kneeling on the floor seeing to the beaten suspect while Profaci ran to call an ambulance.

* * *

"Ok…" Ben Stone started, unnervingly calm, "Let's begin with someone telling me what happened?"

Mike could feel the attorney's eyes on him from behind as he sat in the chair in the middle of Cragen's office, his right hand bandaged and laying loosing on his lap. He said nothing but stared at the floor.

"The man did provoke him," Greevey said in the best defense he could given the current situation.

Stone sighed, "We didn't even have a confession from this guy. Any defense lawyer will put that it was coerced even if we got one now. We can't keep this suspect any longer in custody."

"Ben, we've got to be able to do something! We know this is the guy. He's a freaking child murderer! You can't just let him go," Cragen protested with both hands.

"Perhaps you should have informed Detective Logan here about coerced confessions, there's nothing we can do!"

"He was provoked!"

Frustrated, Mike looked up, "Ok, what the hell do you want? Yeah I hit the jerk; he deserved it."

"Just because a suspect deserves it doesn't give you that right, Detective," Ben shot back before sighing and crouching in front of the younger man to catch his eyes as Logan looked back down again towards the floor. "Look, Mike. I know you're new to the homicide division and the detective bureau in general. So we're not going to charge you…this time. However," he glanced over at Cragen, "You will be suspended for at least three weeks."

Reluctantly, Cragen nodded in agreement. Max shook his head but after a pointed look from the captain, he kept his mouth shut.

"If it happens again…" Stone started, but didn't continue. After a moment, he looked again at Cragen. "And if you get anymore evidence…get another warrant," the Exec ADA said before turning and leaving the office.

Silence settled over the office – an awkward, heavy silence. Max reached up and ran a hand through his hair, watching his partner who sat in the chair, unmoving. Finally, Cragen spoke, "Mike…I don't even want to know what the hell you were thinking. Just give me your freaking badge and gun. After three weeks you can have them back."

The young detective stood up and pulled out his badge and gun, half slamming them on the desk before simply walking out of the office without another word.

* * *

Logan didn't get a chance to leave until a few hours later. The whole time his partner had been watching him. Max had been around explosive types before and it was safe to say that it ran in his own family. So he also knew that it was possible that something else could happen once Logan left the precinct. As such, the sergeant followed him.

The motorcycle was easy to pick out and Max followed him all the way to, surprisingly, a graveyard. On foot, Greevey was able to catch up. Mike walked faster, but it didn't stop the other. Finally, Mike turned around, "Max, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I want to ask you the same thing," Greevey shot back.

He received no answer, and Logan turned around again, heading down the gravel path and evidently not caring that he was being followed anymore. At length, he turned and headed down another way.

Max sighed. "What's going on, huh? This started way before that idiot said anything didn't it."

"Just leave me alone Max!" Logan growled dangerously.

"That's not an option."

"I don't…want…to talk about it."

"Would you just listen to me Logan," Greevey raised his voice in exasperation, moving to stand in front of his partner.

Logan narrowed his eyes at him and pushed him out of the way, "I said leave me alone."

Standing where he had stopped, Greevey watched quietly. Logan stopped a few feet away, in front of a grave with a small headstone. "Mike," Max started softly, sounding a mixture of frustrated and concerned, "What are you so mad at?"

Softly, Max approached. Logan closed his eyes for a moment. "I wasn't there to save here," he said at last.

"To save who?" the other asked.

"Katie."

"There isn't a Katie in this case…"

"No," Logan sighed again, opening his eyes, "My sister."

For the first time, Greevey noticed the name on the headstone of the grave they were standing in front of. Kathryn M. Logan. From date of birth to date of death, 13 years old. "Mike, I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "I should have been there…I could have skipped school that day or something. I could have saved her." There was a brief paused and Mike looked up slightly, over the rest of the graves, "Mama cried that day. She never cried…except one time Danny told me. He said she cried once when she slammed my head into some stairs and I guess it bleed a lot. She musta been scared, I don't know. But Mama never cried. She did then."

Watching carefully, Max considered asking what had happened, but thought it best not to. "You can't save everyone, no one can. Some people die. It ain't happy, but that's the way life is," he replied softly instead.

"All I could think of was some son of a b-…" Mike started but stopped and brought a hand up quickly to rub his face just as Max could have sworn he saw the faint glistening of tears, "Like that guy…and all I could think of was him doin' that to Katie." He sighed, "America's supposed to be a free country. Maybe someone else's America is."

"I'm sorry Mike, truly I am."

A small ironic smile crossed his face after a moment, "You know, now Danny swears I'm Borderline because of crap like this." Slowly, almost as if he was out of practice even in such a simple motion, Logan crossed himself and turned away from the grave back down the path. Greevey followed.

The blond detective smirked, "Maybe you oughta see a shrink."

Mike almost laughed, "Are you kidding? All shrinks do is give you enough medicine to make you a zombie or something. Somehow I don't think sitting across from a perp, staring off numbly into space and drooling would be very intimidating."

"Yeah, well, you got a point," Max said, clapping his friend on the back as they walked towards the gate.


End file.
